


Perchance to Dream

by sumhowe_sailing



Category: Sumhowe
Genre: M/M, Mild Angst, a morning after story, my favorite boys being awkward and stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10471527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/sumhowe_sailing
Summary: “We need to talk about last night.”“What about it?”“I think it was a mistake.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Could possibly be seen as a sequel to "The Lady's Name" - or to a (hopefully better) fic I haven't written yet.

When he woke to find the space beside him empty, he relaxed. It had all been a dream, after all. But what a dream it had been… He could practically feel the scratch of Sam’s beard against his cheeks, his nimble fingers in his hair… He was almost certain that Sam’s scent—so unique and so familiar—was lingering in the room. But the room was empty, aside from himself. The patch of bed where he had imagined Sam was lying wasn’t even warm.

It shouldn’t have left him feeling as empty as it did. He’d been at war with himself over this for weeks now. There were a thousand reasons not to tell Sam how he felt, but he did not know how much longer he could keep it to himself. He had no idea what might happen if he did tell him. There were times, like last night, when he dreamed the secret had come out—and everything was fine. More than fine. He had dreamed that Sam returned his passion, that they had spent a glorious night together, and that everything would only be easier, happier, from here. And then there were times when he imagined Sam was disgusted. Or furious that Charles would presume… Or that Sam said nothing, simply left, and that he never saw him again. There were so many reasons to keep his mouth shut about it, and only one to speak up. He wasn’t sure if realizing that last night had been a dream was more a relief or a disappointment. He closed his eyes, and tried to shoo Sam away from his mind.

When at length he ventured down to breakfast, the sight of Sam leaning over his table, scrawling a letter hastily, stopped him in his tracks. Sam was here. Had it…had it been a dream after all? Sam glanced up at him, but did not smile.

“Good morning,” Charles managed, trying to sound natural. Sam nodded and returned to his letter. Charles sat down and put a few things on his plate, though he found himself profoundly un-hungry. As he watched Sam write, he tried to remember what exactly had happened last night—where reality ended and fantasy began. They hadn’t been particularly intoxicated; or at least Charles hadn’t, not for him. It had started as a night like any other and then… And then he couldn’t decide if that conversation about the Greeks had really happened. Or if it had, had the timid confessions that followed? The embraces? Had he really fallen asleep in Sam’s arms, or had it only been wishful thinking?

“You’ll forgive me,” Sam said at last, setting his letter aside. “I’ve been up a few hours working on this and wanted to finish this business while it’s fresh in my mind.”

“Of course.”

After an awkward pause in which neither of them seemed to know what to say, Sam asked, “Did you sleep well?”

“Very.”

Another pause. And then they both burst out talking at once. Charles stuttered and blushed and insisted Sam speak first.

“We need to talk about last night.”

“What about it?”

“I think it was a mistake.”

So, there it was. It had happened. And Sam wished it hadn’t. Somehow, this was not an outcome he’d expected—not one he’d prepared for. Not knowing what to say, he said nothing.

“I understand your disappointment…” Sam began, but could not seem to follow it up. Charles could only stare. He watched the twitch of muscle as Sam swallowed hard. Watched the firm, businesslike way in which Sam lifted the cup of tea to take a sip before setting it down again. Every movement was so carefully controlled. But even Sam’s iron will could not keep a look of deep frustration and sorrow from his eyes as he began his speech again. “I understand your disappointment—and share it. Truly, I do. But I really think it would be for the best if we did not repeat last night’s mistake.” His voice wavered on that last word, but he ground his teeth and pressed on. “There are a thousand reasons why, and I’m sure you’re as sensible of them as I am—“  
“What if I’m not?” Charles had to interrupt. He could not listen passively to this, not when he had so much at stake.

“Surely you don’t need me to list all the reasons—“

“I am aware of them. But not sensible of them.”

“Do I have to explain why this could never work?” It was the sort of biting thing Sam said when he was particularly angry, but he did not sound angry just now. Only—frightened. It gave Charles the courage to press him.

“Do I have to explain why it must?”

At this, Sam stood abruptly and turned away. Charles watched him clasp his hands tightly behind his back and knew he was fighting to regain control of some unwieldy part of himself. Knowing how set Sam could become in this resolve if he waited too long, Charles sprang up to press him harder. Hurrying to his side, Charles took him by the elbow, trying to force him to turn and face him.

“Chev, you know I love you. Even before I told you so, you knew. And if you doubt it, I shall be happy—more than happy—to tell you, to _show_ you, again—and again and again. As often as I can. As many times as it takes for you to believe me. And if you love me in return, as I think you said you do—“

“Charles, enough.”

“No. No, it is not enough. As long as you try to pull away from me, it is not enough. As long as you go on pretending that you’ll be happier without me—“

“Happier? Who ever said anything about happiness?”

“Then why? What is this about?”

“Practicality. Realism. You know the world we live in, Charles. You know what it thinks of people like that.”

“People like _us_ , do you mean?”

“Don’t—don’t.”

There was a dangerous edge to his tone now. Charles bit back on the thousand other things he wanted to say. He’d already said too much, he feared. Another word might push Sam too far. And if that happened, who could say if Charles would ever get him back?

“Charles, I…” a deep, ragged breath punctuated this phrase and the next, “I don’t see how this can ever end well. There is no possible future in which we never regret last night. We might be happy, very happy, for a short time. But don’t you think the burden of living with a secret like that will wear you down? Won’t you get tired of looking over your shoulder and jumping at shadows? And we are bound to break over something. We are too similar not to. I have already known for a very long time that losing you will be the hardest thing I ever do; why make it harder by adding this?”

He seemed poised to add more, but didn’t. Charles thought over his answer carefully. There was so much he wanted to say. So many counterpoints to be made, so many assurances to be offered. But he did not want to push Sam much farther, and for once he decided that fewer words might be more effective.

“Because,” he answered at last, “you are worth it.”

Sam made an exasperated noise and shot Charles a pleading glance. That glance was all the concession he was likely to get. Seizing this almost-invitation, he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Sam. Unsure how stubborn Sam was going to be, he was relieved when Sam reciprocated, if only a little, and buried his face willingly in his shoulder. He waited just long enough to be sure that Sam wasn’t going to change his mind and pull away before muttering, “We’ll make it work.” But Sam stiffened at that. So Charles abandoned talk, and instead simply held on as tightly as he dared.


End file.
